Rope Unraveled
by Kelsey Pearl
Summary: If she is a blade, I am her rag. Blades cannot lie, and neither can the elves that wield them. One-sided Arya/Nasuada. Slight sexual content.


Arya is a blade.

Her features sharp and absolute, the expressions passing her face barely changing. She makes loud, strong noises when challenged, and grins with the thought of blood on her hands. Blood of someone she has killed.

Her body is the strong hilt, emotionally and physically resistant to most attacks. She just parries, brushing them away with the clang of a sharp retort or spell. She bends and moves with command, following a rhythm unseen. If you understand it, then you are already dead.

She reflects the world around her. Her fists clench in anger at the burning plains caused by war. Her forehead furrows when concentrating on a battle plan that is absolutely necessary for survival. Her lips curve in a smile, just a small one, when she sees _him_, standing there laughing. 

But all blades get dirty, stained by blood and dirt and grime and dust. They need something to clean them off so they can continue forward until they break, shattering from the final impact, the final strike.

If Arya is the blade, I'm the rag.

Yes, I resemble the rag. I look dirty like one, dark skin hiding me in shadows and not showing the mud caked on my skin after a secret practice. I clean up easy, wiping away mistakes with a wave of my hand or a flash of a frown.

I clean her as she writhes and moans underneath me. I do not tease, or savor the moments. My hand between her thighs and my teeth on her neck are just enough to send her over the edge. Just enough to wash away her fears and worries for moments of minutes.

She throws me aside after, and I lie there like the dutiful rag. She dresses, leaves; no one suspects. A meeting. She will wash in the stream, of course, ridding herself of any traces of what we have done.

I lie there, thinking, hoping that she loves me. That the first time, when she made me cry and bleed and then gasp, that it was because she wanted me. But I know I am just used at her disposal. I am replaceable. She could find another, perhaps a spellcaster of soldier, that could satisfy her needs just the same. Maybe even better.

I get dirtier though, guilty and aroused at the same time. I am no longer the same woman I was. I was once clean, beautiful. But after one too many cleaning, I have become barely useable.

She loves _him_, and I must try and accept that. I am merely a servant of her desires.

As she looks in my eyes, I know. Blades cut through anything, everything. She's been cutting up me, a used and old rag. Soon I will be replaced. I want to feel relieved, but I can't. Because I've been her tool for so long, I do not remember what it is like being free.

"Lady Nasuada." Her voice slices my heart, as I look up. She does not smile; not for me. I force one though, trying to pretend.

"Yes, Arya?" I feel my voice, dragged down with fatigue. Oh, how I wish she could lie to me! But blades do not lie. And neither do the elves who wield them.

"Eragon and I are departing this evening. He requested I inform you." I know. I always know, because her eyes are alive with the flames that tempered her to the point she are now. I shake my head, a nod of confirmation.

"Of course, I figured as much."

"Will you allow him to leave?" Of course. She asks, because I cannot say no to her.

"Yes. I will not deny him his training or time away. We all need a break from this infernal war, do we not?" She inclines her head, turning to leave. I want to grab her arm, pull her to me and kiss her with passion. But I refrain.

"Lady Nasuada?" I look up from my hands. She is staring, hard, at me.

"Yes?"

"I will not bother you again." She is not talking about requests or questions. It is all a cover. No one will know, or understand. A blade can do as it pleases, as can she. She acts like she is trapped, but I know otherwise. She can pretend. She can smile and act. But her eyes do not lie. She does not wish to burden me, us, anymore with this problem. With this affair.

She wants me to be happy.

I want to die.


End file.
